One Last Time
by russewithlove
Summary: Maybe... he shouldn't go back. Maybe... he didn't have a chance there anymore. Maybe... it wasn't worth it.


Disclaimer: Naruto is a copyright of Masashi Kishimoto.

A few birds chirped from their perch on a tall, deep brown tree. Nearby, a stream trickled along the dusty path. Even further, the small stream extended outwards into an enormous, beautifully sparkling waterfall. There were large rocks surrounding the sides of the water, creating a perfect spot to sit and dunk your feet into the sun-warmed water, which might have been what _he_ would have been doing, after his gut-wrenching experience.

But, alas, the grass isn't always greener on his side of the fence.

A bright red trail of blood dripped along the rocks near the waterfall as he leaned in to get a drink. And failed miserably. He was stopped by a searing pain in his side and more blood oozing out of the gash created by a katana. A gasp of pain escaped his lips, followed by a wince. Even breathing too hard hurt.

He gave up on his attempt for water. He wasn't _that_ thirsty. And besides, it wasn't worth the pain. He thought about what he should do next.

His goal was accomplished. His enemy had been defeated at last. Killed. Dead.

These words played over and over in his mind. He could hardly believe it, but he managed to grasp this statement and register it. Now, a million words ran through his head at once, causing so many different emotions that he didn't know which one to feel. Was he glad that his enemy was finally dead after all the wasted years and failed attempts? Or was he the complete opposite?

A wave of sorrow washed over him through all the emotions. What would he do now? He had completed his goal, and it had cost him everything. He was alone now.

No home, no family... no friends... Not anymore, at least.

He was sure they had abandoned him by now. After all he'd done. Even so, in the back of his mind was a sliver of hope that they hadn't forgotten him. That was the part of him that wished they would keep chasing him. They followed him for years, turning a cold-shoulder to the inevitable. Tracked him down when he couldn't be found. Fought him when he couldn't be beaten. Begged him when he couldn't be swayed. The inevitable? He was never coming back.

At least, that's what he used to think. Back then, he used to think that his goal would never be fulfilled. Things became so hopelessly lost that he sometimes wanted to give up and go back. But he didn't... and now, there's no going back. His comrades, his _friends_, probably wouldn't even want to spare him a glance, let alone see him in the village again. Besides, he would never be allowed back in the village anyway. The hokage would be completely against it as soon as his name was mentioned. They would give him a prison sentence for life.

Or they would just execute him.

They wouldn't want a cold-blooded traitor in the village, prison or not. He guessed he deserved it.

After all, he had betrayed his village. His people. His best friend.

And for what? Revenge. Revenge had corrupted his mind. Clouded his thoughts.

Revenge for their deaths. The ones _he_ had mercilessly killed. It was _his_ fault.

But in reality, the only one he could blame was himself. He _let_ himself become corrupted.

And this was the price he had to pay.

He began to reconsider his thinking.

Maybe...he shouldn't go back.

Maybe... he didn't have a chance there anymore.

Maybe... it wasn't worth it.  
He should just die here. He should have died a long time ago. But he had defied against all odds. And it had brought him here, bruised, beaten, broken.  
Even if he managed to go back to the village, he would no longer be able to continue his life as a shinobi. His body was broken beyond repair. Plus, his eyesight was failing him. Years of using his kekkai genkai had depleted his vision. What was left of it was nothing more than the rough outline of the trees and a blur of dull colors.  
...No.  
Though his eyesight was failing him, he had to use what was left and see _him_ again.  
He had to see _his_ obnoxiously bright jumpsuit.  
His soft, golden hair that's color could rival the sun's.

He had to hear _his_ voice. That annoying, carefree, musical voice.  
And he wouldn't give up until he did.

His life would not end here. At least, not yet. He swore it.  
He had to see_ him_ one last time.


End file.
